


The Best Medicine

by The_Quartermasters



Category: One Piece
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4346660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Quartermasters/pseuds/The_Quartermasters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zoro's bad at being sick but Sanji's got what'll cure his ails. (Aka enjoy some generic ZoSan hurt/comfort sickfic.)  Written November 2004</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Medicine

Dinner was lively that night. Sanji was serving generous helpings of meat to the whole table (though the choice cuts still went to the girls) and Robin had kindly acquiesced to Usopp's request for Chopper impersonations all around. Luffy was the most enthusiastic, bounding around the table, wagging his 'antlers' back and forth, and twisting his hips and torso in an amazingly accurate impression of the little reindeer's characteristic dance. The din was so loud and the galley so lively that Sanji didn't even notice when Luffy held up two plates for what must have been third or forth servings, and no one else complained as he inhaled both in a matter of moments. 

In fact it wasn't until the meal was finally winding to a close, and Sanji looked around for the swordsman to help clear the table that he noticed Zoro's absence. 

"Oi, Luffy," he called as the others began filing out to attend to their own evening activities. "Where's Zoro?"

"Eh?" the boy paused, halfway through the door, one leg in mid step and scratched searchingly at his chin. "Ah! He said.... ah... he was gonna train and that I could have his meat." With a grin and a giggle, the now-rather-round captain flopped from the room before Sanji got the chance to scold him. 

Sanji frowned vaguely and turned back to the dishes. Dumbass. Well, it'd be his own fault if he woke up hungry in the middle of the night. 

For his part, Zoro had opted out of dinner in favor of the cool night air. The din of the dining room seemed terribly unnapealing to him for some reason that night. There was a peculiar ache in his body, particularly in his chest and throat. And as far as Zoro was concerned, any discomfort outside of the effects of a fight were generally caused by pushing himself too hard with training. And the next step after that was, of course, to push himself even further. He wouldn't be strong enough until he could work past exhaustion, til there *was* no limit, no point at which the ache would distract him. 

As the night progressed though, the weights only grew to feel heavier and heavier. The sweat that beaded on his back came too quickly and his carefully measured breaths were harder to control. Still, he pressed on, teeth gritted with determination. The set he was lifting seemed to drag on forever but he pushed harder with each swing of the weights until he'd reached the set goal. Finally he let the weights sink to the deck, keeping himself in check enough not to let them fall to the wooden planks. Wiping sweat away from his eyes, he willed his breath to slow and finally looked back from his position at the bow.

The deck was deserted and quiet now -- he'd been aware of the others loudly making their way to bed halfway through his set, shouting goodnights that he'd barely acknowledged. There was however, still a glow in the galley window. He'd rather hoped to avoid anyone til morning when surely this would have blown over but at the moment, his mouth and throat were dry and foul-tasting and he wasn't sure he could resist what the galley had to offer. Besides, what training didn't fix, alcohol would. He wondered if Sanji had any whiskey in the stores.

When he all but crept into the galley, the cook was at the sink, doing dishes and Zoro didn't so much as glance his way, hoping that Sanji would simply ignore his presence as well and with any luck, wander off to bed.

Sanji was aware, of course, the moment the swordsman placed a palm on the door and he gave the man a brief glance over his shoulder as he entered, never pausing in his chore. "You missed dinner," he pointed out, preemptively, before Zoro had a chance to demand food. 

A scowl tugged at Zoro's mouth, pausing with his back to Sanji. His only response came in a gruff, non-comital grunt. "Nn." And he continued on his way to the wine rack, reaching for something cheap and potent. He had no desire for food so Sanji couldn't complain or hold anything over his head. He just wanted something that would burn his throat more than whatever was doing just that right now.

Vaguely surprised at this response (or rather, the lack thereof), Sanji set aside the plate he was rinsing and turned to watch Zoro scan and pull a bottle from the wall. He tried again. "Luffy didn't leave any leftovers." And that'll teach you to skip dinner, dumbass. He folded his arms and regarded the other man with a raised eyebrow. 

Zoro glowered across the room at the cook as he bit down on the cork, prying it loose with his teeth. He knew Sanji wasn't going to let this go until he got some kind of response out of him. The cook must really get off on the idea of him begging for scraps, he thought and was about to give voice to such but it occurred to him again just why he *wasn't* giving Sanji the retort he wanted. But the cook wasn't going to let it slide without a word so he responded, his voice as gravelly and hoarse as he'd feared, "Not hungry." He took a long swallow of booze then, only adding to the annoying warmth that had been lingering in his cheeks all evening.

Sanji's brow raised even more dramatically and the cigarette he'd just placed between his lips wavered and nearly fell before Sanji snapped his mouth shut. Dishes momentarily forgotten, the cook wiped his hands dry on the front of his apron and took a step away from the sink. He sucked briefly at the end of the unlit cigarette but opted instead to tuck it away again in his shirt pocket. He regarded the scowling man for a moment longer before asking, the barest hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "What's wrong with your voice?"

A hand waved Sanji off, Zoro closing his eyes briefly. He shouldn't have come into the galley; Sanji was going to be as annoying as possible, he knew it. He cleared his throat then, nonchallantly before trying again, "Nothing." He managed to get the word out but it sparked a cough which in turn seemed to spark several more. He was gritting his teeth in annoyance when he managed to force the tickle in his throat into submission. 

Sanji looked rather startled. In all the time he'd known the swordsman, Zoro had been in countless fights, had sideswiped death more times than Sanji had fingers to count and more than likely had lost, all in all, more blood that he had in his body at any given time. But he didn't think he'd ever heard the man cough. At least never when it wasn't followed by gratuitous bloody vomiting. This... this was a first. And he couldn't quite believe it. "You... you're sick!" It wasn't quite a question.

"Ussei," Zoro croaked in response, scowling at Sanji's shocked face. He was *not* sick. He had far more control of his body than that. He didn't *get* sick. "M'fine." As though to prove his point, he took another swallow of alcohol and quickly regretted it as this time it burned with a very different sort of burn than he was looking for. He refused to let Sanji have any further satisfaction though and managed to ignore the pain outwardly. It was though, getting harder to ignore how quickly the temperature in the room seemed to be rising.

"Dumbass, give me that!" Sanji scowled and stepped forward to snatch the bottle from Zoro's hand. "Don't go wasting my booze when you probably can't even taste it." He took a sniff from the bottle and placed it, still nearly full on the kitchen counter before turning back to face the swordsman. "You don't -look- fine," he pointed out, taking in the man's sallow face and more-darkly-circled-than-normal eyes. "And you -don't- sound fine either." He frowned. "You'd better not be contagious," he added with a quiet huff.

"K'soyaro," Zoro growled, his now-empty fist clenching. He glared at Sanji but he made no move to steal the bottle back. Truth was, it no longer seemed particularly appealing and he didn't feel like expending the effort of it, even for the sake of keeping appearances. All he really wanted to do was sleep. "Fine," he ground out, only letting one cough past his defenses after. "Tastes like shit anyway." Slamming his palms down on the table, he shoved himself to his feet only to sway slightly as his head spun.

"Idiot!" The word slipped from Sanji's lips before he could catch it and he'd stepped forward to grasp at Zoro's bare shoulder before he could stop to think. He quickly looked away from Zoro's face with a scoff, a click of his tongue. The swordsman's skin felt sweat-sticky under his fingers and far too warm. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was pressing his luck risking this much physical contact, but again his reflexes acted before his common sense could kick in and he found his palm pressed to Zoro's forehead. "What on earth possessed you to skip dinner and -train- when you're clearly feverish?" 

It took him half a beat but Zoro jerked away from the touch, shoving Sanji's hand away. "Get off," he grumbled, trying to shrug Sanji off. "It's nothing. It'll pass by morning. M'going to bed." 

He hesitated only a split second before snatching at Zoro's wrist, preventing him from leaving. "Wait, dumbass!" he protested, then fell silent when Zoro looked at him, clearly waiting for an explanation. "You-- you should see Chopper. He'd be-- you know, hurt if you didn't at least let him do his job." Sanji wasn't at all sure he'd provided a convincing excuse, but he'd come far too close to expressing genuine concern for the swordsman to risk -not- transferring his reasoning to another party. And it made sense, didn't it? Chopper -was- their doctor, after all. 

"Dammit, cook...." Zoro growled, tugging at Sanji's grip. "I'm telling you --" Here he was interrupted by another coughing fit, cursing silently with each hack that scraped his throat. "It's nothing --" he finally rasped. But the coughing left his head spinning more than ever and it felt difficult to get enough breath. How could he possibly be this weak to some fucking bug!? He was Roronoa Zoro, dammit! He could be cut to ribbons and still press on through the fight, could loose more blood than it seemed he should have and continue to train! No god damn cold was going to drag him down.

Sanji humphed skeptically, but allowed the swordsman to pull free of his hold. "Look, idiot, you're barely standing and you're breathing as though you've just run a goddamned marathon. Sit your ass down before you fall over."

Mostly managing to catch his breath, Zoro seemed to take a moment to consider this. Truth was, trudging back to the bunkroom didn't sound particularly appealing. So he finally huffed and sank back down to the bench. "I'll just sleep here," he announced firmly. "The snoring in that damn room'll keep me up anyway." With this, he folded his arms on the table and laid his head against them.

Sanji stood looking down at the swordsman for a long moment before fishing back into his shirt for the cigarette he'd put aside and lit it, drawing a deep, smoky breath. Finally he spoke, wisps of smoke curling up through his hair. "I'll be right back. If you puke in my kitchen while I'm gone, I'll kill you." 

A few short minutes later Sanji returned, Chopper at his heels carrying his black doctor's bag and trying very hard to look professional. 

Zoro had mostly drifted off by this time but as Chopper climbed up on the bench beside him, he woke enough to crack open one eye which only focused somewhat on the nervous doctor. "Kuso-cook..." Zoro muttered, betrayed. 

But, if there was anyone who Zoro would humor, it was Chopper and after a little coaxing from the reindeer, he let the doctor examine him. With his temperature taken and throat, eyes, ears and heartbeat checked, Chopper lowered his stethoscope and regarded Zoro. "You just have a flu, but you're running a very high fever," he told him and started to rummage in his bag. He placed a pill in Zoro's hand. "This'll help keep the fever under control but you need to *rest*. That means no training for a few days."

Zoro made a face, furrowing his brow tightly. "I'm sure it's nothing, probably just some bad food from the love-cook over there... I'll be fine by morning..." He was already pushing himself to his feet, leaving the pill on the table.

Sanji sputtered and was about to loudly protest the accusation, but a quick pleading glance from Chopper quieted him and instead he only looked away, muttering under his breath. Chopper, for his part, fidgeted, and placed one small hoof on the man's hand, doing his best to gently prevent Zoro from leaving. "It's really best if you rest and take the medicine..." he tried again. 

Zoro looked down at the reindeer and offered a reassuring smile, the sort that seemed to only be reserved for him. "Really, it's fine," he said. "I don't *get* sick."

Sanji scoffed and bit at the end of his cigarette. Chopper looked worried. "But... but you might get really sick if you aren't careful..." he glanced between Sanji and Zoro and took a deep breath, "as the doctor of this ship, I really must insist that you follow my advice." He didn't take his hoof from Zoro's arm.

Zoro palmed his face in frustration -- his head hurt and he was tired, not of course because he was sick but he just wanted to go to sleep and let all this blow over. "Chopper..." he groaned, shaking his head. He lightly shook of the doctor's arm and turned, only a little wobbly now, for the door, waving a hand and brushing past Sanji. "It's really nothing. Don't worry about me. I'm just going to --"

But Sanji was faster. And he moved, smooth and quick to stand between Zoro and the door, one knee bent and foot held at the ready. "Listen to the doctor, dumbass. He's not just along for the ride here. He's got a job; let him do it."

Before Zoro could reply, large heavy hands closed around both of his shoulders and Chopper's next words ruffled his hair with their breath. "Sorry Zoro, but it's really best if you rest..." 

Zoro blinked then with surprise, glancing over his shoulder at Chopper and back at Sanji. His scowl deepened with annoyance -- they couldn't force him to do anything. Indignantly, he struggled against Chopper's grip, always surprised at how strong the reindeer was in his 'human' form. "Assholes!" he barked, though it scraped in his throat. "You can't make me do anything!"

Chopper glanced over Zoro's shoulder to Sanji, brows drawn in a worried, questioning furrow. The cook sighed and nodded, never lowering his leg. With a mumbled apology, Chopper wrapped one massive arm around Zoro's struggling torso, pinning his arms to his sides. The man was too strong to hold like this for long, the doctor knew, but a moment was all he needed to find a bit of exposed flesh on Zoro's arm and stick the needle into his flesh. Zoro shot Sanji one last look of betrayal before slumping over in Choppers arms, unconscious. 

When Zoro finally woke, it was from his own shivering. He found himself wrapped in a blanket though, stretched across the couch in the barracks which were otherwise empty. As he tried to quell the shaking that seized him, the events of the previous night started to hazily return and he scowled to himself. He had to wonder what time it was, how long he'd slept. He had half a mind to storm into the kitchen or on to the deck to lift weights just to spite Chopper and Sanji, but the moment he lifted his head, he reconsidered. Aside from the biting cold (they must have been passing through another cold spot on the Grandline) his head pounded and his whole body ached. At the moment, horrifyingly enough, training sounded like the worst thing imaginable at that moment. Luckily though, no one was around to see him relent to lying back down, closing his eyes to take several deep breaths.

Quite literally the moment Zoro's head eased back into the couch, the trap door above was lifted and a pair of long, black-clad legs descended. Sanji had come bearing a try with a steaming mug and a bit of rice which he balanced expertly as he alighted on the barracks floor. A few steps and he stood over the swordsman's prone form, hesitating only a moment before lifting a foot and prodding the man's hip lightly. "Oi, you awake?"

"Nnngh..." Zoro mumbled at the sound of that voice. Sanji was quite possibly the last person he wanted to see at the moment. He was fairly sure he'd be read the riot act. He cracked open an eye though because whatever was on that tray smelled very good and made him realize just how empty his stomach was. 

With one graceful moment, Sanji seated himself on the edge of the couch at Zoro's feet and gave the man a brief looking over before speaking. "Can you sit up? Chopper wants you to eat something. Rice and tea. Honeyed." He nodded toward the tray.

"Of course I can," Zoro managed defensively, but his voice was nearly gone now, his throat dry and scratching. It took a frustrating amount of effort though, to actually follow through with this, pulling himself up with one hand on the back of the couch. He looked somewhat dissapointed at what was on the menu though, rasping, "Just rice?"

Sanji raised a brow and held out the small bowl and a pair of chopsticks. "Just start with the rice and if you can eat that, maybe we'll graduate to soup." 

Zoro scowled but he accepted the food anyway. In spite of his hunger though, he found himself unable to wolf down the bowl as he might have pleased and found himself feeling weak even from the simple act of eating. Slumped back against the back of the couch, nearly empty bowl still in hand, he eyed Sanji. "You must be loving this," he said bitingly.

"Oh shut up," Sanji snapped back. "There are countless other things I'd far rather be doing that waiting on your sick ass." He paused briefly, running fingers through limp blond hair. "But I promised to help Chopper out." He leaned forward then to retrieve the bowl and replace it with the now-cool-enough-to-drink cup of tea. "Drink this."

He was about to retort with something equally scathing but the mug pressed into his hands reminded him how cold he was and how his throat scratched. So he held off long enough to take a long swallow of the warm tea, letting it soothe his throat and letting the sweet taste overpower the sick flavor in his mouth. 

Legs crossed at the ankles, Sanji waited and watched as Zoro sipped at the tea. He seemed to be taking seriously his promise to Chopper to make sure the sick swordsman got proper nourishment. When the man paused and tried to hand it back Sanji shook his head. "No, you're supposed to drink it all. Doctor's orders."

Zoro eyed Sanji suspiciously before he downed the rest of the tea only slightly begrudgingly. He then thrust the empty mug back at Sanji with look that very much said 'happy?'. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Are you my designated mommy now?" he asked sarcastically, but in spite of himself, he noticed that the tea soothed the burn in his throat. A shiver seized him then though and he yanked the blanket back around himself. "Why is it so damn cold!?"

"Because you're feverish, dumbass!" Sanji snapped back with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. He sighed then and slipped onto the couch, depositing the empty mug onto the floor beside the couch and lifted Zoro's feet out of the way to settle himself down. He pulled a small book from his pocket and flipped it open somewhere in the middle and began scanning the page.

Disheveled, with his hair mussed, eyes darkly lined and cheeks flushed with fever Zoro could only stare at Sanji as he made himself comfortable at the end of the 'bed' he was supposedly on bed-rest in. "Oi," he said flatly. "What are you doing?"

"Reading," Sanji stated simply, not bothering to lift his eyes from the book. When he felt Zoro's gaze still on him, the cook sighed, lowering the book to his lap. "Look, everyone's all ready eaten lunch. I don't need to get started on dinner for hours. And I might as well entertain myself while I'm stuck looking after you." He shrugged as though this were obvious. "Chopper asked me to," he added as a near afterthought. 

"Oh," Zoro said, looking confused. He seemed to regain his wits then, his brow tightening in a frown. "Oi! I don't need a babysitter! How long am I supposed to sit around down here anyway!? This is stu--" The swordsman interrupted himself though by slipping into another coughing fit that made his temples throb afterward.

Sanji's book was abandoned on the arm of the couch as he leaned, stretching an arm over Zoro's body to lay a palm on Zoro's chest. He was quiet for a long moment before finally speaking, his voice low and strangely lacking the harsher tones he'd displayed earlier. "Look... I know this is frustrating for you... but the more you resist it, the longer you'll be stuck here." His fingers twitched slightly in the blanket that covered the man's torso, uncomfortable, as though he was forcibly resisting the urge to pull away. It wasn't exactly that he'd never -touched- the other man. It was just... something they never -ever- spoke of. 

For a moment, Zoro seemed rather frozen by that hand on his chest, staring at Sanji's face. He wasn't used to that sort of tone, those sort of words coming from Sanji's mouth and directed at him. It was strange. Confusing, even. Finally he broke the silence with another cough and decided he didn't care if Sanji was there. He was tired again and wanted to lay down -- and justified this with the fact that he did just that on deck or in the galley or under Nami's mikan on a regular basis. However, the couch was too short for him to lay down with Sanji was the end of it so he started to get up, mumbling, "I'll just take a hammock."

"Like hell you will!" Sanji snapped, his hand firm, unrelenting, pushing Zoro back into the couch. "Lay down, dumbass." 

Zoro scowled, a childish caricature of himself as he was pushed back down, knees bent to avoid any extra contact with the other man. "Don't take up the whole couch then!" he snapped back.

"What? I'm suddenly poisonous?" Sanji leaned closer, giving Zoro's blanket a tug so that it slipped from his bare shoulders. "Stop being such a child."

The moment the fabric slipped from his shoulders, a shiver shook Zoro's frame, reminding him how cold he was. He yanked the blanket back, perhaps with too much fervor so that it exposed his bare feet. He didn't protest any further though, starting to sink down, knees still bent and body curved uncomfortably. He was suspicious of Sanji -- the other man had to be hanging around like this just for the pleasure of seeing him at his lowest. Cocky bastard, acting all high and mighty with his rice and his tea...

Again, Sanji sighed, rolling his eyes and took hold of both Zoro's ankles, tugging them up into his lap in an attempt to straighten the man out. "Chopper'll kick my ass if I leave you alone, so you'd better just get used to the idea." Why the man was so god-damned uptight...a cranky 5 year old would have been easier to deal with. "Besides, if I left you down here by yourself, and I didn't hear you -die-, Luffy'd have my ass as well." 

"I'm not going to *die*," Zoro protested hotly, though when it came in the choked, raspy state his voice was in it was considerably less impressive so he accented it with a light shove at Sanji's thigh with his heel. Regardless though, he finally gave in and settled back against the cushions. Sanji's hands and lap were warm against his seemingly frigid skin and he had to admit to himself that that did feel rather good. "Everyone's making too much out of this," he grumbled. "If I wanted to, I could get up and lift weights all afternoon..."

Sanji didn't even bother replying this time, only shot Zoro a narrow-eyed glance as though to say he knew that they both knew that Zoro was full of shit. Shaking his head lightly he picked his hands up from his lap, let them hover there for a moment, and then, as though changing his mind, dropped them back to Zoro's feet. "Why don't you try to sleep? I'll wake you later for food." 

Zoro would have protested again if only for the sake of not agreeing to anything Sanji had to say. But the truth was, as stubborn as he could be, he was already feeling drained from being awake the brief moments he had been. So instead, he grunted vaguely and pulled the blanket tighter around him and settled in. And in spite of his worked up state, he started to drift off quickly, only half-aware of Sanji returning to his book. 

Below deck, there was no way of telling how much time had passed when Zoro groggily came to again, face pressed into his own shoulder and the back of the couch. As consciousness returned though, he grew aware of the warmth that his feet rested against and the light weight on his scarred ankles. Opening one eye, he peered down the length of his body and the couch. Sanji was still there, one hand still gripping his book lightly where it rested against the arm rest. The cook was breathing slowly, still sitting up but with his head bowed and hair falling in his eyes, free hand resting on Zoro's ankles.

Sanji'd meant to stay awake. It wasn't that the book Robin had lent him on traditional South Blue cooking wasn't interesting. It was just that down here, in the quiet of the barracks, with no other chore to keep him busy besides supervising the slumbering swordsman, he found it only too easy to let his head nod and his breathing slow. And though he was supposed to keep an eye on Zoro, he had soon found it difficult to keep his eyes focused on anything. Even now, he didn't stir, even as Zoro looked on.

For a long moment, Zoro didn't move -- his muscles were stiff anyway from first being worked too hard and then staying in one position for too long. At least he wasn't freezing anymore, he observed. He just watched the slow rise and fall of Sanji's sleeping shoulders, contemplating the light touch on his ankles. He had to wonder why in the world Sanji would have agreed to take care of him, even at Chopper's request. Why, as he would have preferred, he hadn't brushed off the idea, saying that Zoro could take care of himself perfectly fine. Which he could. His stomach rumbled then though, interrupting his train of thought and reminding him that he'd eaten nothing but rice for who knows how long. And who knew how long Sanji had been asleep. And if Sanji slept too long, that meant a later dinner. So he nudged lightly at Sanji's ribs with a toe. "Oi..." he rasped. "Love-cook."

Sanji stirred only slightly, mumbling in his sleep, fingers twitching once, twice before he settled again with a quiet, exhaling breath. 

"Oi," Zoro said, trying to raise his voice but his throat refused the attempt and it came out as little more than a hiss. He didn't feel like sitting up. "Kusoyaro." He lifted his foot higher, pressing the bottom of it to the side of Sanji's head and giving a light shove, jostling him. "Wake up, Luffy's eaten you're entire stores." 

Without missing half a beat, Sanji snatched at Zoro's ankle and jerked the foot away from his face. He opened his eyes just a crack and turned his narrow gaze to the swordsman. "I locked the fridge after dinner. And told him he'd stay out of the bunkroom if he knew what was good for him." Still holding Zoro's foot, Sanji indicated the floor near Zoro's end of the couch where a tray, with full plate and mug sat. "It's cold by now." 

Zoro blinked, shifting enough to look over the edge of the couch. Sanji had managed to leave and return to that spot without so much as stirring him? That was vaguely unsettling. He made a low sound in his throat, partly acknowledgement and partly annoyance. Still, what mattered at the moment was the fact that there was food waiting for him. So he tugged his foot away from Sanji's grip and pulled himself into a sitting position, setting the tray in his lap. Over-eager he wolfed down a massive bite only to regret it when his raw throat protested angrily at the violation and he had to fight back a coughing fit. 

Sanji simply watched, his book still in hand but ignored. After a long moment of silence but for the chewing of food and the occasional cough, Sanji finally spoke up. "It's a warm night. The others didn't seem to mind the idea of sleeping on deck." 

In spite of the discomfort, Zoro was quite absorbed in his food -- he'd after all had a bowl of rice in probably more than 24 hours. And even through his senses dulled by illness and even though it was only vaguely warm, the stew was very, very good. His mouth still closed around the spoon, he looked up at Sanji with a frown, then forced down another swallow. "What, am I in quarantine?" he rasped. 

"No... I just thought --and Chopper agreed-- that as few disturbances as possible would be beneficent toward getting you back on your feet." He let an idle finger trace one of the scars that marked Zoro's ankles. "Like I said, no one minded." 

Zoro paused, the spoon at his lips again, he watched Sanji's finger tickle at his skin. This was weird. He took another bite though, still frowning vaguely. "Everyone's making too much of this," he said, straining to even out his voice. He hated hearing it, so ridiculously soft. "I could have slept outside instead." 

Sanji scowled and left off his absent-minded touches to shoot a glare at the stubborn man who frowned at him from the opposite end of the couch. "No. You couldn't have," he insisted. 

For a long moment, Zoro only glared back at him, all rivalry and sparks. The air was heavy with tension -- confusion over Sanji's behavior, resentment at being treated like a weakling, frustration over his own obvious weakness. However, in spite of this, Zoro did somehow find it in himself to mutter, "You don't have to stop." 

Sanji's brow raised, a delicate, comical curlicue of skepticism, but he managed to bite his tongue against the snarky comments he was tempted to offer. It was a delicate business if he didn't want to lose so early on. So instead he allowed his palms to once again find Zoro's feet, this time rubbing lightly at the pads and dips between each toe. 

That was considerably more difficult to argue with. The stew wasn't entirely gone but he felt sated enough to set the tray aside. It was difficult to hold up his air of suspicion when his head was still swimming slightly with a lowered but still warm temperature and with Sanji's hands on his oversensitized skin. He was normally one to brush off excess contact, with the exception of Chopper or Luffy on his better days but somehow today the touch was welcome in spite of himself. His frown softened as he sank back but his face still read stubborn. "You like seeing me like this," he accused hoarsely. 

Sanji gave a quiet snort and shook his head, though his hands continued moving expertly over the rough skin of Zoro's feet. "Are you kidding? You're not nearly such a whiny pest when you're healthy," but his tone was almost joking. He shrugged. "It gets me off of night watch anyway." 

Zoro's resentful scowl returned. "I'm not whiny!" It might have been barked if it weren't for his feeble voice. "You're just a doting mother," he said, though there was no physical retaliation. He didn't want to dislodge the attention being paid to his feet. 

Sanji gave a short dismissive laugh. "If I'm the mother, then don't you have to do whatever I tell you?" His fingers had moved on, massaging small circles across Zoro's calves. 

"Che," Zoro spat lightly, but his frame was starting to relax. Sanji would never get away with this at any other time -- generally this sort of contact was reserved for nights when it wouldn't be remembered in the morning. It was an unspoken sort of agreement which seemed to be just as unspokenly broken. "Hardly," he said. "And, you're a pervert to boot." 

Sanji was leaning just a bit now, reaching farther under the blanket, firm fingers feeling out and kneading away the tension just above Zoro's knees. "How so?" he asked, straight-faced and narrow-eyed. 

At this contact, Zoro almost relaxed enough to close his eyes, his lids hooding somewhat. "Going along with calling yourself the 'mother' like that," he said, chiding. "There's something wrong with your head." 

Sanji shrugged. "Your idea, not mine." His palms pressed and rubbed at Zoro's thighs through the thick cotton fabric of his slacks as the cook leaned in further. "I'm not interested in being anyone's mother though," he added. 

"That's comforting," Zoro said blandly and the faintest sigh slipped between his lips. The sensation lulled him further, so that he was barely aware of how those hands were creeping their way up. He was though, starting to find it a bit warm beneath the blanket so he stretched, bare arms over his head and pushed the fabric down to the waistband of his pants. "I suppose you're going to sleep here," he said, not quite an inquiry, not quite a statement. 

"I'll spend the night here," he agreed. "Whether or not I'll sleep is another matter." He was now curving quite a bit closer, over Zoro, one arm propped on the back of the couch, the other, buried in blanket, still offered his touch. 

"Nnn?" Zoro intoned, raising a brow. "What would Chopper think? Some nursemaid," he scoffed. His lazy eyes watched Sanji's movements though, carefully, calculating. It was an opportunity one rarely got though, having full access to the bunkroom without the worry of being busted in on. Considerably preferable to the hot confines and hard floor of the pantry or a dark corner of the cargo hold. 

"I think... that Chopper will be amazed at how much better you're feeling tomorrow morning when he comes down to check on you," Sanji answered, only half-bothering to hide his smirk as he summoned the courage in his fingers and let them sweep almost accidently across the tight stretch of fabric between the swordsman's thighs. 

The fist that snatched up the fabric at the front of Sanji's shirt came unexpectedly, giving a good, hard yank that sent him tumbling forward against Zoro's stretched body. "Don't start thinking," Zoro said softly, looking calmly into Sanji's face, "that just because I'm sick, you can take advantage of me. Ero-mayuge." He seemed about to pull the other man into a kiss but on second though yanked him close enough to gain access to his neck and throat, biting at the soft flesh there. 

Sanji drew a deep, hissing breath as Zoro's unnaturally hot mouth closed upon the tendon at his throat. "Then again," he breathed, "You're much too clever to let yourself be taken advantage of, aren't you? Kuso-bushido." With his torso pressed against Zoro's, legs tangled, and hip to hip, it was hard to remember why quarreling with the swordsman was better than simply stripping him of his remaining clothes then and there. 

"Nngh," Zoro responded, breath on Sanji's ear heavier than it would normally be. "Shut up." He pulled at the collar of the other's shirt, determined not to let Sanji get the best of him. The blanket that separated them though was quick to annoy him, a frustrating bulk between two bodies that fit so well together. And in pausing to push Sanji away enough to pull it out from between them, a coughing fit got the better of him, the final hack forming itself into a curse. 

Sanji hesitated, hovering above the man, propped up on both hands. "You aren't gonna die or anything right?" he ventured. 

"Fuck you," Zoro shot back, managing only the first word to be accented with a cough and cuffing the cook upside the head. "I'm fine." He was however, he realized now that he'd removed the blanket, shivering just slightly. He pulled Sanji down again before he could notice, pulling roughly at the buttons of the other man's shirt. "You're sure..." His breath was annoyingly heavy. "the others... are staying out..." 

Sanji reached to assist Zoro's fumbling fingers, quickly pulling free the last button. "Yes. Yes yes yes. None of them would -dream- of disturbing your rest. Besides that, I told Luffy I wouldn't fix him any meat for a week if he bothered you tonight." 

It seemed enough reassurance for Zoro and hands found Sanji's skin, pushing the material away as palms roved up his stomach and chest and over his shoulders. Hot breath and lips were against his skin, in his hair as Zoro's panting mouth tasted him here and there, at his throat and behind his ear. His bare stomach and chest were pulled against Zoro's own feverish skin, in a demand for contact while fingers trailed over the muscles and contours of Sanji's back.

"Woah there," Sanji hummed into the curve of Zoro's ear. "Don't want to exhaust yourself before we've even started..." And with quick, deliberate movements, pried Zoro's hands from his body, pulling them up over his head to press them into the arm of the couch. "Just relax. Let me," he whispered, catching up one dangling earring in his teeth, giving it the faintest warning tug.

"Oi..." Zoro began to protest breathlessly, pressing lightly back at Sanji's restraining hands. But then a shudder tore up his spine at that light teasing of sensitive flesh and he gave it a second thought. Perhaps just this once he'd let Sanji get away with it -- after all, the cook *was* supposed to be looking after him wasn't he? He wasn't, however, about to *just* relax and to relay such, he hooked a leg behind Sanji's knee, pulling him down and arching his own hips into the tight space they shared.

"Mm..." Sanji voice was a near-purr in his ear as he planted small, sucking kisses down Zoro's neck, started from his ear and ending in the smooth, heated expanse of skin above Zoro's breastplate, doubling back to catch him just under the jaw. "Maybe you were right," he mouthed, licking at Zoro's fever-warm temple. "I -am- enjoying this."

With his voice so weak, the rumble in his throat that tried to give itself voice only tickled and he had to swallow back a cough. His body seemed more confused that ever as to the temperature, sweat droplets forming on his forehead though his skin shivered as though from cold. "Ecchi-mayuge," he murmured in Sanji's ear in his hoarse voice. He darted forward enough to catch the lobe briefly, delivering a suck and a light nip. "Don't think I don't get you back later..." he warned.

Sanji smirked, sucking a second earring further into his mouth, waiting for the hiss and twitch beneath him before letting go. "I'm counting on it, actually," he purred as he transferred both of Zoro's wrists to one hand and reached beneath him to feel out the front of Zoro's pants. "You -are- up for this, aren't you?"

In spite of his hips twitching slightly into that touch, Zoro managed to produce a scowl. "Of course I am," he responded, quietly but sharply. He glanced up at the wrists that Sanji insisted on holding back. "Or why would you be doing that?" he challenged. 

Sanji laughed, a quiet breathy sound. "You're letting me do that. I'm not strong enough to pin you down with my arms, even if you -are- sick." He smiled then and licked at the corner of Zoro's eye, kissing and tasting the salt. 

"You're fucking right," Zoro responded, twisting his hand around to catch Sanji's own thin wrist as he drew a leg up between the other man's thighs, forgoing all subtlety as he let fabric rub against fabric. "I could be on the brink of death and still break you in two."

Sanji grinned and ground his hips against Zoro's, finding his eyes and laughing silently as he moved. "Of course you could. I don't doubt it. Shut up and let me fuck you."

Zoro lifted a brow, sizing Sanji up even as their bodies rubbed together, flesh on flesh and fabric tangling. "Don't you think that's a little strenuous for me?" he said, voice dripping sarcastic innocence, though he cut himself off with a faint grunt. He used his knees to knock Sanji's knees apart, forcing him into straddling Zoro's lap to get his point across. 

"Such a one track mind, Zoro-tan," Sanji chided, letting the fingers of one hand play, rather roughly across a nipple. "I can fuck you without --fucking-- you, you know," he explained, "If you think you can't handle it." He proceeded to shift, just enough to grasp at the firm heat that pressed up into his hand, a teasing sort of touch without flesh-on-flesh contact.

The swordsman growled softly in frustration -- he'd hoped Sanji would go along with it but with the issued challenge, he bared his teeth at the other man in a half-sneer, half-grin. "I can take whatever you've got, twice-over," he shot back breathily. "Maybe thrice over if you're all talk, like I think you are."

Sanji laughed, giving his head a little shake. "You are so predictable," he scoffed, gently, his eyes sparking with humor. "Don't worry, I'm feeling horrible selfish today and supposing your cock's up to the task, I'd be more than content with a reminder of how well you fit when I do the riding." He grinned, made bold by not having to whisper requests in the cramped dark. Without waiting for a response he pushed at the waistband of Zoro's pants, humming as he freed the flushed, wet head, bending to lap at the tip, a tease before straightening to undo his own slacks.

Whether the flush in his cheeks was the result of his fever or Sanji's brazen tongue was unclear. He didn't hesitate though, the moment Sanji's hand left his wrists, he was pushing the fabric down further. His eyes followed Sanji's movements as he tugged at his own slacks while he closed a sweaty palm around his own cock, stroking himself slowly, idly. He licked his dry lips, the thought crossing his mind that perhaps he should get sick more often if this is what it meant.

Before tossing his slacks and shorts aside Sanji fished into the pocket and pulled out a small bottle of cooking oil. He watched as Zoro handled himself, his own cock, hanging heavy and dripping, objecting to its own inattention, but Sanji summoned his self control and wasted little time in prying free the cork, pouring out just enough onto his fingers. Eyes never leaving Zoro, he sat up on his knees, bending over the man slightly as he reached back with oil-slick fingers to prepare himself. He didn't often get the chance to watch the swordsman during their interludes. One couldn't see much cramped in the tight, dark space between pantry shelves. Now, though he couldn't tear his gaze away.

Even though it was still with a certain sense of challenge, Zoro met Sanji's eyes, as though to prove he was unafraid, even of this contact in open light, free of the usual haze of alcohol. It was a little strange, admittedly, and he still found himself stretching his hearing in the moments of silence, listening for any sign of a wayward crewmate. But soon the sight of Sanji's bare flesh was enough to distract him, eyes wandering blatantly over the cook's lithe body. His free hand reached for Sanji's pale thigh, wandering over his hip and tugging him close enough to find the stretch of his neck with his mouth. Still stroking himself, Zoro's touch wandered over his torso, fingers brushing over the arm that reached back to ready him.

Sanji closed his eyes as Zoro's hand roved his body, diving his fingers deeper, adding a second and then a third. He breathed heavily now, mouth open and his skin was growing warmer. He dropped the bottle of oil into Zoro's hand, trusting him to know what to do with it. 

Zoro was only too generous with the oil, letting his slick fingers slide over his cock, fighting the temptation to pump too hard, too fast. He was panting softly, perhaps with self control, perhaps with exertion, but either way in soft, hot gusts into Sanji's hair and ear, between wanting nips and nibbles around the flesh. His hips rolled into his own touch, between Sanji's thighs, hips arching until his knuckles brushed the underside of the other man's cock. "Come on," he whispered hoarsely into his ear, followed by a soft groan.

"Already ahead of you," Sanji groaned back, inching forward and wasting little time in positioning himself above Zoro's offered cock. "Fuuuck," he hissed, letting himself sink down, more quickly than he'd perhaps normally take it, but desperate enough for the sensation to avoid caution. 

Gritting his teeth against the onslaught, Zoro closed his eyes, fighting off the wave that threatened to completely overtake his senses. His head swam, reeling with the influence of fever combined with Sanji's touch, Sanji's own heat and tightness swallowing him. For a moment he almost had second thoughts, so overwhelming the sensation, so frail it dared to make him feel. But then strength flickered through him again and choking back a breath, a gasp, he was arching his body into that embrace, that hold that seemed the only thing possibly hotter than his own skin.

"Yeah," Sanji breathed, both hands on Zoro's shoulders now, kneading and pressing, steadying himself as he pulled back, up. His hazy vision caught at Zoro's closed eyes and fever-pink cheeks, the hint of a smile on his own lips. "Yeah," he groaned again, "Fuck, we don't get to do this often enough..." Then fell quiet as he sank down once more. There was no hurry this time, for once in their infrequent courtship, and Sanji was determined to take his time. 

When Zoro dared to crack his eyes, the light almost blinded him. He had to wonder if this wasn't in fact some fevered dream or hallucination. They didn't do this -- not in the open air of the bunkroom, with the luxury that the couch offered beneath his stretched body. Not with revealing light that cast the shadow of Sanji's body across his chest and not with the cook's unchecked voice in his ears. But somehow, Zoro managed to come to enough for his clammy palms to find Sanji's hips, a low groan in his scratchy throat. It was only his own hazy exhaustion and the shock of everything that overtook his body that prevented him from demanding more, from thrusting upward. His fingers though, dug into the pale flesh of Sanji's hips, his own body finding its own way into his slow movements with the faint arch and bow of his spine.

As Sanji began to fall into a steady, smooth rhythm, his movements became easier and the hot, stomach-jumping pleasure took the place of initial ache. His fingers opened, let go of Zoro's shoulders and slipped under his neck, rubbing at the tension he found there. The rough weave of the couch burned his bare knees, but he hardly noticed. His head bowed and he bit at his lower lip as he directed Zoro deeper.

His chest heaving slowly but heavily, Zoro's chin tilted to the ceiling, neck stretching under Sanji's attention. Fingers clenched and released with the rise and fall of the cook's rhythm, with the tension and relaxation of muscle that with each pulse forced the ache building in him tighter and tenser. The heel of a palm rubbed at the point of Sanji's hip, the pad of a thumb at the crease in the juncture of his thigh. Heels braced on the arm of the couch, though his legs were bent at the knees, thighs against Sanji's lower back. A soft curse was rasped from Zoro's dry lips, all tension, all groping hands and twisting hips, though he was hypnotized enough by the haze and the newness and the long-stretching pull and fall of Sanji's control, slowly forcing pleasure through him but leaving him still desperately aching only for more and more.

"Zoro..." was the breathy, barely-heard hiss on Sanji's lips as his hips rocked against the swordsman's, as his buttocks pressed back against the man's thighs, as his fingers twisted upwards, pulling at sweaty sea-green hair. He was being stretched to his limit, scraping, nudging places deep enough inside that he'd normally not feel, sensations he certainly could never duplicate on his own. And it was threatening to very quickly undo him. Nevermind the control he struggled to exercise. His own cock bobbed heavy, dark, between their bodies, teasing him with every brush of skin. "Are you close?" he groaned. 

Grounded back to reality by his own name, Zoro's eyes managed to focus on Sanji's flushed face and the easily recognizable glow of reigned lust that was in his gaze. With a hitched breath his hips twitched again, harder, on the downstroke. His response was rumbled in the back of his throat, regaining control of his senses and then his sweaty palm was on Sanji's cock, hot fingers ringed around his head. Zoro's own gaze was glowing now as his other hand gripped at Sanji's hip, yanking him down as he thrust up, quick, sharp, silent but for the soft grunt that was forced from deep inside. He wasn't about to let Sanji actually get away with questioning his stamina, his abilities, no matter how sick he was. And leaving Sanji to fend for himself against the hard thrust of his hips, his fingers were reaching back to stretch him wider with sure fingers, brushing his own cock where it plunged into the other's body.

Sanji's eyes flew wide, fingers dug into Zoro's scalp and neck, clutching, swearing as he was stretched, penetrated again, his hips slowing to a still as Zoro filled him deeper still. He felt quite sure he couldn't stand it, yet in some part of his hazy, heated consciousness, he realized that Zoro might be testing just that, making some conceited point about just how much Sanji -  
could- handle. "F-f-uck..." he breathed, wincing, squirming, pressing against those fingers, tight around that cock, all rhythm lost in favor of simple friction. Even then, his hands slipped from Zoro's neck, one coming to rest, to dig into the swordsman's chest, to scrape along his ribs. The other found and caught up his own aching arousal, picking up where Zoro'd left him, stroking, pulling hard and fast. "Fuck, shit. Shit," he hissed through clenched teeth. 

An encouraging sound groaned from Zoro's lips, between his rattled breaths, eyes wandering down the pale, tense body over him to the furious fingers fisting around his tortured cock. "Yes..." he hissed back, low and barely audible, more interested in prying free Sanji's voice. Jaw set, hands gripping harder, yanking Sanji down around his flesh even as he thrust upward harder, against the cook's light weight. His planted feet rocked the couch as he forced every inkling of weakness from his body, demanding it forget its ailments, commanding his muscles into action. He was quick to realize just how close he actually *was* with this new and steadily increasing pace and had to fight against the body that he was forcing into his whim. Still though in spite of that control, his back was quickly twisting with the intensity of it, corners of his mouth pulled back to bare his teeth which breath heaved furiously through. His muscles burned and his vision blurred and sweat trickled across his skin but he heaved angrily against it all, demanding more, clawing at Sanji's lower back as the sensation mounted, so close he thought he really would die were he to be trapped there a moment longer. 

Sanji relinquished that much control with little argument, all his attention focused, centered around fucking himself onto Zoro's flesh as hard and quick as possible, knees sinking into the couch, pressing into the swordsman's sides. His back curved, head bowed nearly to Zoro's shoulder as his hand worked furiously, thumb rubbing across, delving into the seeping tip of his own cock. He could feel the man beneath him tense and heave, felt his thighs and stomach shake with tension, and he picked up the pace of his own fingers in anticipation. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down his nose, down his jaw to drop from his chin to Zoro's chest. A string of quiet curses occupied his tongue throughout, rising in urgency as they both neared their limits.

A throaty gasp almost made Zoro choke on his own breath and finally climax was crashing down on him and he was curling up, gripping at Sanji's back and shoulders and hair. His breath heaved in Sanji's ear, as well as the sounds that he barely managed to keep in his throat as he bucked so hard into him with the overpowering pulses of pleasure that ripped mercilessly through his strained body. Finding it almost completely overwhelming, he pressed his forehead to whatever closest bit of flesh he could reach in the height of his orgasm, mistrusting the black that threatened at the corners of his vision and refusing to give in to it.

It wasn't more than a breath behind that Sanji followed, coming hard and hot between their bodies, sweat and cum and quivering flesh as Zoro crushed Sanji against his torso. His voice was a scratchy whine in his throat as Sanji reached back and pushed at Zoro's hand, the sensations ricocheting across his skin so intense as to be nearly nauseating. He was hard-pressed not to simply collapse into the swordsman's hold, as the climax began to fade but he had enough forethought to brace himself over Zoro on one elbow, head bowing above the man's shoulder, flushed lips just barely grazing his throat as the laid the faintest of kisses there. 

Zoro, for his part, had already collapsed back against the cushions, his breath coming in deep, raspy heaves, the muscles in his legs still shivering as he caught the breath that was far too labored for such little activity. Then more of him was shivering, uncontrollably, even his teeth chattering as that cold that seemed to seep all the way to his bones sank in again. A faint curse was muffled into Sanji's hair as he tried unsuccessfully to stifle his body's actions.

For once, Sanji said nothing, chastising or otherwise, even as he felt Zoro's torso shake beneath him. Instead, he stretched, reaching over the edge of the couch with one foot, and snagged the corner of the discarded blanket, tugging it up far enough to catch and pull over the both of them. Then he was sinking back down over the swordsman's body, feather light kisses still peppering his skin occasionally. "Sshh," was Sanji's only comment as he laid a cool palm against Zoro's chest. 

Even Zoro himself didn't protest, somehow unable to find it in himself to push Sanji off. He could only blame the fever, only that could explain how his eyes started to close, how his shivering body started to relax beneath Sanji's weight. It was only desperate for the scrap of warmth that the cook's flesh provided. It was only that that pulled the shuddering sigh from his exhausted frame as sleep tugged at the corners of his consciousness. And it was far beyond his fevered mind when his arms curled around Sanji's own sweaty body, coming to rest there as he slipped back into sleep.

 

"Are you sure about this?" Nami said, still skeptical and somewhat nervous. 

Zoro shot her another annoyed look, piling things up onto a tray. He'd hated to ask for her help but outside of Sanji, she was the only one who could work in the galley without something inevitably blowing up or burning down. Except for perhaps Robin. But Zoro didn't want to think about what *Robin* might have to say about him preparing a meal for their blonde cook. 

Everyone had been more or less baffled when Sanji had come down ill and Zoro, freshly recovered from his own feverish spell, announced firmly that he would be the one to take care of their ill crewmate. Well, everyone except Luffy who was vaguely puzzled momentarily but ultimately filled with child-like glee that the crew Zoro and Sanji were such good nakama. The others were still somewhat leery though at the idea -- perhaps at the prospect of the broken dishes or the shambles that the bunkroom would certainly be left in. It was a wonder that Sanji had managed to look after Zoro as long as he had, let alone vice versa. 

"I already told you," Zoro growled back, ladelling soup into a bowl. "I'm not going to let that bastard think he can get away with holding this over my head. I'm not interested in owing him any fucking favors."

"But do you think he'll actually let you --"

"He's so weak, he can barely open his mouth to cuss at me," Zoro interjected, his characteristic scowl firmly in place even as he gathered up the tray. He sneered then with sarcasm, "Besides, if he whines too much, I'll just tell him you made the soup."

Like hell he would. The galley door closed with a slam and a muttered something or other about annoying cooks. Left at the counter, Nami sighed, not understanding her crewmates one bit. She glanced at Chopper who was at the table, but he was emersed in his own work, tinkering with vials and tools that she couldn't begin to understand. So shaking her head, she turned instead to start cleaning up the kitchen a bit.

Zoro had recovered from his illness before the cultures Chopper had taken could complete. He'd been offering treatment for common flu symptoms but now that the cultures had completed, he could pinpoint exactly what he was fighting. Standing on the dining room bench, a hoof adjusted the knobs on his microscope, tongue between his teeth as he squinted into the lens. A frown of concentration creased his furred features as he turned to the stack of books beside him, hoof following the words down the page when he found the entry he was looking for.

It was, as he suspected, a fairly common though potentially dangerous illness, particularly difficult to treat. It was likely that it was only Zoro's ideal stamina and strong immune system that had allowed him to recover as quickly as he had. Sanji would have the advantage that they could treat the illness properly now. The reindeer paused though as he read through the notes about the illness -- it wasn't an airborne disease. It was a virus contracted only through the exchange of bodily fluids. Chopper's wide eyes blinked down at the textbook, puzzled.


End file.
